Farewell

When I write a blog, it’s usually because I have random feelings and random thoughts. Tonight I have strong and sad feelings and strong and sad thoughts. My eyes are streaming as I type this, but if there’s one person who deserves a blog and a mention, it is Malcolm Patterson.

I met Mac almost six years ago. I started dating my wife six and a half years ago and I followed her to this amazing island of Prince Edward’s…if I am brutally honest I had never even heard of it prior to Hannah Jane. I worked for a consultancy company specialising in the betting industry. Meeting this special family and these special grandparents was tough enough as it was but I had major reservations about meeting the wife-to-be’s family as I undoubtedly had to explain my career path and gambling is hardly the easiest choice to explain…especially in North America. I went for the analysis and data in football point of view, and mentioned, if somewhat glossed over, the betting angle.

I rapidly learned that none of that really mattered. I wasn’t judged on what I did, I was being judged on who I was and am. I hope I didn’t disappoint. The reverse angle didn’t disappoint in the slightest. Malcolm and Nellie have always made me feel like their own….I cannot quite imagine what being one of their own actually feels like.

Malcolm passed away this evening, and all I can possibly explain or hint at is how sad I feel tonight. I am very much like my dad in this sense, and I take loss hard. Of all the aspects, characteristics, qualities and weaknesses that I get from my parents, this kind of emotion undoubtedly comes from my father. Dad takes things hard, and always has. That is far from saying my mum doesn’t….anybody who reads my blog knows exactly what I think of her. This particular side of me comes from my dad though. Most of the guys that will read this will no doubt want to rip me apart because of it, but you’ll know what it is about and it is one of the reasons why a. we are friends and b. you are reading this.

Two and a half years ago, Malcolm and Nellie came to Leeds for Christmas. HJ and I have a principle whereby one Xmas is spent in one country and one in the other, so we split time between both families. Mac and Nel came to Yorkshire at the grand old age of 84. I cannot quite describe what that meant to HJ and me. I had it in mind to propose to my girl, and their presence made it the perfect setting. After I gathered the courage to propose, we told our parents and then went into Malcolm and Nellie’s room. It was shortly before supper and they were fast asleep on the bed. We stirred them gently and broke the news, and their eyes lit up.

Fast forward a couple of years and tonight all I can picture is Mac and my girl rocking the dance floor in a Halifax bar. Their attendance at our wedding meant the absolute world to the pair of us. Just as the presence of my family from Yorkshire coming all the way to Nova Scotia did. Weddings are funny old days that bring out different emotions in different people. For HJ and I, we could not have wished for a better day than 4^th August, 2011, and that was in no small part due to the presence of Mac and Nel.

I have known Mac for six years. I cannot imagine how it would feel tonight having known him for 32 years…..or more….or less. I would not dream of downplaying any relationship that he had. What I can say is that knowing him for six years, six weeks, six days, six hours, six minutes…..you would quickly know this gem of a husband, this dad, this grandfather, this friend….and this grandfather-in-law.

My mum’s dad passed away when I was pretty young. I can recall the fifty pences and the boiled sweets that he used to give me when we visited. I can recall his large ears and him sitting in the armchair at Florence Mount. I wish I knew him better….and I wish I hadn’t inherited his ears. You can’t win ‘em all. My dad’s dad was Spanish, and I was older when he passed, but again, was never able to spend as much time as I would have liked with him as I saw him maybe once or twice a year if I was lucky. He had a sense of humour, much like my dad, and much like me. Small minds think alike, but we found it. I am blessed to have the family that I have, they are amazing. Mac was the perfect granddad, and I’m going to claim him, as I have done the last six years, as my grandfather. I can only wish to have had that kind of relationship, with that kind of gentleman, for my 32 years of existence.

Sat in the cottage a couple of weeks ago, the phone rang, and it was an organisation asking if Malcolm was still willing to volunteer his time to helping out those in need. He had put his name down some weeks earlier to help out. That was who he was, and what he did. If I was a betting man, I’ll say that there won’t be a better attended funeral in Montague, Charlottetown or PEI for years to come. You’ll be missed Mac, sorely missed and as much as I’m not a fan, I’ll raise a rye and ginger for you xo

When You Say Nothing At All

If you know me, then you have probably heard me talk or read something I have written about Mia. She is my six-year-old niece and is one of the most adorable people I know. Before she learned the art of speech, Mia was often seen biting, spitting, or throwing the biggest tantrum you would have witnessed. This all made sense if you knew her mum when she was a kid. Bratiness however transformed into adorability.  If you haven’t adopted one of my favourite words, this is the kind of transformation examples that you will see in the dictionary under the term bouncebackability. We wrote her off. Cute kid, but the biggest brat of all time and Super Nanny was needed. She learned how to speak and the frustration resided and being able to express herself vocally reduced the need to inflict physical and mental pain on those around.

She received her school report last week and I’ll take a quote from it.

“Mia is a popular member of the class and she has a close circle of special friends. She is also one of the most thoughtful and sensitive children I have ever had the pleasure to teach.”

How fortunate Mrs Bell never her met her four years or so ago.

My job in the betting industry taught me one thing. As passionate as I have always been about football, I have developed an ability to remove emotion out of certain equations or decisions and to try to evaluate things on their merits and not be swayed by any biases I may have. It is not easy. Maybe I am biased with Mia. Maybe every kid’s report was similar to that and Mrs Bell has five standard templates that she copies and pastes from one to the next.

Kids come out with pearls of wisdom all the time that usually crack you up. One of the joys of being a parent, uncle/auntie, grandparent etc. Mia has had her fair share and I have yet to meet a kid like her. Last week she told her mum that when Nanna passes away, she is going to move into her house so that she can be close to her. I have not managed to break it to her yet that Uncle Rob will be selling up and putting that cash on black in Vegas. I’m sure she will understand one day. I have however never come across a kid who thinks as deeply as her. I recall bursting into tears after sitting in silence for hours one evening when I was a kid and just mum and I were home. I begged her not to die and to live forever. Mum never made the promise but said she would be around for a long time. Mia is not as naïve as I clearly was, but she is already up to speed a certain realities of life that completely belie her age.

I have always been a deep thinker. I suspect that comes across in my blog and words, perhaps more so than in my personality, but that is tough for me to judge. I’ve always been attracted and have warmed to fellow deep thinkers. As I have gotten older, I find myself surrounded more and more by ‘thoughtful and sensitive’ people as my inbuilt filter system has weeded out many of those lacking those traits. I can only hope and try to reciprocate the thoughtfulness and sensitivity, and get the very most out of those relationships.

I have been thinking a lot recently about the same theme that Mia was referring to. She is on one end of the age scale, and there are folk I know and care about on the other end. None of this business gets easier, but like Mia, we try find ways to deal with something that is inevitable at some point. Who knows, maybe by the time I am old and Mia is grown up, there will be a live forever injection we can take. Although after somebody told me yesterday ‘what?! You’re only 32!?’ I’m not sure it is something I’ll be signing up for in any rush.

Mia is on to something however. No, moving in is not the answer or solution for me, and Uncle Rob’s share will go on black, rather than red due to my obvious distaste for that colour. It is the moments, the words, the gestures that imprint in our minds long afterwards. There is something hugely reassuring we can take from any key relationship in  our lives and that twenty years later, you know precisely what they would say, what they would do, what they would advise and what facial expression they would pull. I am not going to stop asking or seeking for any of the above – I’ll still talk to everybody and ask the questions, bits of advice. If I know you well, I just know what you’re going to say or what you think. It’s how I approach and deal with things in this complex world (read my head) that we live in.

Things To Do

Burns and I are famous for making to do lists. Busy lives and busy minds require some kind of organisation and we make streams of 'things to do' lists. They are generally extremely useful and help us remember things which could quite easily slip the net...occasionally they do. When you have 'write a to do list' on your 'to do' list, you know you're in trouble.

I have three to do lists on the go, and I usually write them twice a week. One is for my company Onside Analysis. One is for my website www.jumpinsport.com. One is for personal stuff. There are items that sit on all three that have been on for far too long that need zapping - and I will use this blog as motivation to zap one on each tonight.

The first two lists are pretty self explanatory and comprise of all the things I need to do for work. The third is completely random. It may include booking flights, it may include ordering something online, it may include reviewing my personal hygiene. Possibly the funniest moment involving my to do lists came in a senior management meeting a few years back when the owner of the company enquired as to whether I had cut my nails yet. He had caught a glimpse of my personal to do list. There is simply no blagging that one to be honest.

The main purpose behind the to do list is to ensure that I remember to do everything I need to do and on time. It came from seeing my mum constantly making shopping lists for what food we needed, as well as lists for what needed to be cleaned. My dad makes them frequently though I can't quite worked out the horse's name or which race meeting it is in.

Aside from the general reminder purpose, I would say that possibly the most important element of the list is being able to put a single line through each item. You would never think such a little bit of ink would make somebody so happy. The sense of achievement comes from acknowledging a job done and that is an important part for me.

Writing a blog should never form part of a to do list however in my view. Yet after not writing one for a while, it did last week. It should come when it comes, a bit like my mum's Yorkshire Puddings....you have to mix the pudding thoroughly, pour into the tray, leaving the oven door closed, and patiently wait for them to rise majestically before serving up. The alternative is a flat flavourless pudding with no real substance. You can't force, rush or plan something like a Yorkshire Pud or a blog and although your head or to do list may be telling you it is time to write a blog or make some Yorkshires, they'll come to you when you wait patiently and deserve them. You deserve a blog today. I deserve some Yorkshires next week.

Secret Garden

One of the best things about Lausanne and what makes the prospect of leaving some day so difficult is moving away from our friends. It is going to happen someday, we all know that. We just do not know when exactly, and we all know we do not want to be the last ones standing. There is a six month rule in place whereby anybody departing must give a six month notice period. Having worked a six-month notice period previously, I know how tough that is, but this is more important than that.

Some of our most memorable trips have been together as a group. Barcelona, London, Carolina, Nova Scotia, and Madrid have all been fantastic trips which everybody will remember.  There have been a couple of weddings along the way, and there are a couple more to go. Sharing these moments, these trips with our fab group of friends, is special, and I know they will stick in my memory.

There is one place which is special to HJ and me. I planned a surprise trip to St Tropez when we were studying together over Easter 2006. Hannah was desperately trying to woo me, and I was just playing it cool as always, but thought I’d whisk here away somewhere pleasant. I have no real idea why I came up with this place, but I just felt my hot girlfriend at the time would enjoy it and it looked the ideal place to relax. As with virtually all trips we make socially, it was worth spending the time to read the reviews of all hotels and find the best place, and I stumbled across a gem.

The first place we ever went together was a filthy and romantic weekend in Leeds. Filthy because it was -5c and HJ’s eyes almost popped out of her head when she saw what some of the ladies were wearing on a night out. I thought they were overdressed personally. And romantic because it was Leeds. Ok, perhaps that is still part of the filthy bit - I cannot quite blag that any more after many of our friends visited Leeds on my stag do. But it was around the birth of my adorable niece and for that reason, along with it being the first trip with HJ, it made it memorable to me.

The first more exotic trip was St Tropez however. We have been virtually every year since, and sometimes a couple of times each year…….every time we have been to the same hotel. When we went after I finished working at the Euros in June, it may have been our ninth or tenth time there. The staff in the hotel are exactly the same as when we first went there and most of them know us now. It took a while, and it is certainly cliquey….picture us turning up the first time with our backpacks….they had to drop the value of the rooms that weekend due to us lowering the standard. Our last visit was memorable because of my friend behind the bar. I have had lengthy discussions with him the last couple of times I have been. He is a good looking, smooth French chap, and if one was inclined that way, he would be a dreamboat. However, he has the memory of a sieve and should have been born 190cm, blonde, and with crazy heels. I ask for a cheeky beer, and he asks if we have ever been to St Tropez before. I reply yes. He says, ‘…but this hotel?’ I reply yes, only eight times. No clue but quite funny really.

It kind of feels like spending time in a French version of Gossip Girl. Hard to describe unless you see it. Needless to say that Burns and I keep ourselves to ourselves and largely stay clear of the Chucks and Serenas…..that reference was included for a number of my Gossip Girl fan readers….I’ve never seen it myself. It is however a special place because it is our place. It is a place we’ve never been with any others. It is a place we have come to know well, and enjoy. It is a place that had the first time we visited been a bad experience, we may never have gone again. It is a place that we made a pact on – that we will never go with anybody else. There is something magic about that.